She pulled at his tee shirt again, wishing to feel his naked chest upon hers. "Come down stairs directly, and let your mother look at your wrist. You make a game with me, imbecile. Cosette sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll. "Wretch!" she cried, "you shall not force me to your hateful purpose. My late husband, I mean.
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